


Everlasting Snow

by fu5ha



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotionally Repressed, F/F, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Acceptance, Self-Hatred, Therapy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 12:01:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24849451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fu5ha/pseuds/fu5ha
Summary: Byleth had read, in stories of heroes and princesses, that the sound of clashing blades was like singing, that a fight was like dancing. She felt, more than heard, the deafening clang of Aymr against the Sword of the Creator. It reverberated through her hands, up her arms, and into her chest as her ears rang, the vibration in her bones like an overbearing double bass attempting to cover the hideous cry of an out of tune trumpet. Swords and axes must be the most horrid singers in all Fódlan, she thought, and soldiers the most depressing dancers.Or,Byleth must learn to accept the reality she created, before she may be allowed to rest.
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 12
Kudos: 52





	1. A Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely based on this incredibl(y sad) fanart by angerykacchan: https://twitter.com/angerykacchan/status/1262362943145926662?s=20
> 
> This is an angsty story, but it will have a hopeful and happy ending.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it.

Byleth had read, in stories of heroes and princesses, that the sound of clashing blades was like singing, that a fight was like dancing. She felt, more than heard, the deafening  _ clang _ of Aymr against the Sword of the Creator. It reverberated through her hands, up her arms, and into her chest as her ears rang, the vibration in her bones like an overbearing double bass attempting to cover the hideous cry of an out of tune trumpet. Swords and axes must be the most horrid singers in all Fódlan, she thought, and soldiers the most depressing dancers.

Byleth had also seen, in operas and plays, the small moments of respite that were had in the middle of a duel, the hero and villain’s blades locked together as they paused the battle and spoke. The reality was not so dramatically inspiring, though perhaps even more tragic. Perhaps in an opera, Edelgard would have just continued to press her axe into Byleth's sword after the previous hit. Perhaps in an opera, that moment would allow them time to look into each other's eyes and speak to one another. But this was no opera, and already another swing was coming for her. So instead of talking, she raised her sword and blocked, once again feeling the devastating power that Edelgard held rattle her entire body when their weapons clashed.

Byleth knew that she couldn't win this fight on pure strength—her former student could outpower her even back at Garreg Mach. And so she pushed back, taking several retreating steps and lashing out with the Sword of the Creator's unique whip-like form to slow her opponent. She continued like that, attempting to wear Edelgard down, just as she herself panted, feeling her own strength sapping.

Byleth knew the end of the fight was nearing, no matter what either of them may have wanted—both were exhausted and hypoxic, limbs sore and aching from both attacking and blocking, vision closing in as their bodies were pushed to the limit. And just as Byleth knew she could not win on power alone, Edelgard knew she could not win if she allowed Byleth to keep her at bay. So, she charged forward, a primal cry charged with all her energy emanating from her mouth.

Byleth knew she had to make her gambit now or she might never get another chance. She raised her sword as though to block Edelgard's strike once more, but this time, at the last moment, she pulled her block away. All it took was a slight shift in her feet and a turn of her wrist, and suddenly her sword was now extending in front of her, poised to impale, with Edelgard’s form on an irreversible collision course toward its tip.

Byleth felt two things simultaneously: the bite of the serrated edge of the Sword of the Creator sinking its teeth deep into the flesh of Edelgard's torso, and the sickening  _ crunch _ of Aymr hitting her own shoulder. A moment later, she felt the weight on her front slackening, and Edelgard crumpled backward onto the ground. The sound of her armor against hard stone was a cacophony worse, to Byleth's ear, than an orchestra's percussion section all hitting their instruments together sans rhyme or reason.

For a few seconds, Byleth just stood, panting, before she, too, crumpled forward onto her knees. She wiped a hand over her eyes, clearing them from sweat-matted hair and dirt, willing her vision to return. The sight that greeted her as her eyes dragged over the scene around her was something from a nightmare. Bodies and blood littered the room. When she finally dared pull them right in front of her, to the red suit of armor lying on the ground at her knees, she began to tremble.

A soft groan sounded, and she looked up, seeing Edelgard (yes, Edelgard, not just a red suit of armor) looking up at her through hooded eyelids. She had a smile on her face.  _ A goddamn smile _ , Byleth thought, and upon seeing it, felt the urge to retch, dry heaving once before forcing herself to stop.

She crawled forward, wincing at the splitting pain in her shoulder where Aymr had rended her, but forced herself on until she knelt next to that softly smiling face. She felt something deep in her chest, a pulsing ache which cried out to be set free, but Byleth didn't know how. She reached out a hand toward Edelgard’s face, but when she saw it in front of her, she paused mid-motion as she realized how much it was shaking.

A voice pulled her from her thoughts, and she flinched, staring back at the source.

"I'm glad that—", a pained gasp interrupted Edelgard's speech, and she winced for a moment before continuing, "that if I had to fall, it was by your h-hand, my teacher."

Byleth felt that thing deep in her gut turn from an ache to a pain, and it spread like seeping ink up her chest toward her heart. She knew she should say something,  _ anything _ , but it felt like there was a rock in her throat, and she could not.

Edelgard closed her eyes for a moment with that serene smile on her face. When she opened them again, she reached out towards Byleth for a moment, before something came over her face and she paused, seemingly thinking better of it. Though she still couldn't speak, Byleth leaned forward, taking Edelgard's outstretched hand in her own and placing it over her cheek. That ache in her chest faded, just for a moment, as Edelgard smiled and rubbed her cheek with her thumb.

"I—" Edelgard choked and coughed for a second, a pained expression coming over her. "I wish I could have walked... by your side." Edelgard's eyes closed again, and Byleth felt the strength leaving the Emperor's fingers as her voice became quieter. The ache in Byleth's stomach was coming back.

"Perhaps… perhaps in another life."

Edelgard's breathing was slowing now, and when Byleth looked down at her side, she saw blood flooding out of the wound she had inflicted, and knew what would come next.

A choked noise left her lips. "El..." she whispered. At that, perhaps subconsciously, Edelgard's lips turned up one more time into that tragic, soft smile, before her breathing stopped altogether.

Byleth felt that ache in her gut tighten for a moment, and then expand, burning and ripping and tearing at her insides. She felt like a balloon about to pop, that terrible ache threatening to pull her apart. The pain in her shoulder was forgotten, inconsequential, compared to the searing heat that spread all through her chest. 

She let out a keening moan, for a moment, like the sound of an animal that had lost its lover. Seconds later, that moan transformed into a primal howl and painfully fought its way from her lips. She yelled like an injured predator, crying out in agony, and fell forward, fists tightening as they clenched in Edelgard's cape.

And then, she sobbed. She sobbed as she hadn't in more than five years; she sobbed as she never had before her father passed. Eventually, when her throat was sore and overworked, exhaustion took her.

When dawn came, the others found her there, still bent over Edelgard's body, her head buried in the other woman's neck.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, this was a doozy. sorry I haven't edited all of this yet, but i wanted to just post it 'cause it's finally done.

The first time she sees it, Byleth freezes instantly, her entire body going rigid. She's strolling through Garreg Mach, where she now works as a professor once again, and peeks through a doorway into one of the new art studios.

She doesn’t know what she had been expecting—she was the one who commissioned it in the first place. And yet, seeing that face again...

She finds it hard to breathe for several seconds, staring at that visage, even unfinished. The soft curve of her brow, slightly furrowed in consternation, an expression of sorrow and burden. And yet she somehow still looks determined, strong, regal. Exactly as she was in life.

A familiar pain flares up in her gut, and she swallows hard, blinking intently at misty eyes.

Too soon, the sculptor pauses their work and looks over, about to say something. Byleth’s eyes widen slightly for a moment before she cuts off any opportunity for the artist to initiate a conversation by nodding in that way she often does and turning away. She doesn’t trust her ability to speak properly.

—  
  
“I thought I might find you here.”  
  
Byleth flinches, caught by surprise at the sound of a voice behind her. She turns and finds Dorothea leaning against the doorframe behind her, a soft smile on her face. Her eyes turn away from Byleth for a moment, and Byleth follows her gaze.  
  
Her eyes land back on the thing she had been contemplating before she’d been interrupted. Edelgard’s visage stares back at her. She turns back toward Dorothea after a moment to find the other woman’s smile had grown slightly. Byleth flushes at the sight, though she’s not sure why.  
  
She nods softly towards Dorothea, in that way of hers.  
  
Dorothea pushes herself off the doorframe and walks towards Byleth, holding something out in her fingers.  
  
Byleth takes it, and finds a sealed envelope bearing the sigil of the Empire. She looks back up at Dorothea, expression still flat, but eyes somehow questioning.  
  
“Edie gave this to me, some time ago. She said to give it to you, but not then. She said I’d know when the time was right.”  
  
Byleth blinks, once.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
Dorothea smiles once again, this time more somberly. After a few moments, she turns away from Byleth, walking up to the sculpture behind them and letting her gaze wander around it. She raises a hand to cup its face, her thumb petting across its cheek for a moment before she lets it fall. She looks down and turns back to Byleth.  
  
“Well. I’ll leave you to it.”  
  
Byleth nods. Dorothea smiles softly, then strides away.

Byleth looks down at the envelope in her hands. She slides a nail under the seal, slowly breaking it, and withdraws the paper inside.  
  
 _My teacher,_ _  
__If you’re reading this, then things didn’t go as planned. I’m glad you’re alive, at the least. I can rest easy knowing that. I’ve written something with you in mind. A song, perhaps._ _  
__  
__Thank you for all you taught me._ _  
__  
̷L̷o̷v̷e̷,_

 _Edelgard_ _  
__  
__P.S. Give a copy to Dorothea, if you wish, if she still plans to write an opera._

 _  
__  
__The Edge of Dawn_

 _  
__Reach for my hand, I'll soar away_

_Into the dawn, oh, I wish I could stay_

_Here in cherished halls, in peaceful days_

_I fear the edge of dawn, knowing time betrays_

_Faint lights pass through colored glass,_

_In this beloved place, silver shines_

_The world dines, a smile on each face_

_As joy surrounds, comfort abounds,_

_And I can feel I'm breaking free,_

_for just this moment lost in time,_

_I am finally me_

_Yet still I hide, behind this mask that I have become_

_My blackened heart, scorched by flames, a force I can't run from_

_As I live out each peaceful day_

_Deep in my soul, oh, I know I can't stay_

_So I wish I could hide away_

_Hold tight to what I love,_

_Keep cruel fate at bay_

_As the rain falls on the path I chase your shadow_

_I don't feel a single drop, or the ground below_

_Then you turn to me and I_

_Stop before I know and the lie upon my lips_

_I let it go_

_Cross my heart, making vows I know will be betrayed_

_A sad girl's pleas, live only for a breath and then they fade_

_Don't ever take back your kind hand_

_Lest precious love slip away like time's sand_

_Only we will know all that was lost_

_Scars that we can't erase_

_Show us life's true cost_

_The blue moonlight cuts across our sight_

_As pure and clear as a ringing bell_

_Reaching for us in the night_

_As the wind calms my thoughts,_

_I hold strong on this terrace_

_I feel at peace, carried away by the wind's song_

_Open the door and walk away_

_Never give in to the call of yesterday_

_Memories that made those days sublime_

_These ruined halls entomb stolen time_

_Reach for my hand, I'll soar away_

_Into the dawn, oh, I wish I could stay_

_Here in cherished halls in peaceful days_

_I fear the edge of dawn knowing time betrays_

Byleth doesn’t move for a long time. She stands, still as the statue before her, parchment held relaxed in her hands. But inside, her body is at war with itself. She feels that now-familiar _ache_ spread through her like a poison. It feels like she’s dying.  
  
A single tear separates itself from her left eye, trailing slowly down her cheek and hanging onto her chin for a moment. Finally, it falls, landing square on the word _love_ and blotting it out.  
  
Several years later, when she goes to see Dorothea perform the opera she’s since dedicated her life to producing and performing, Edelgard’s lyrics are burned into her soul. Hearing Dorothea sing them, she loses herself for a moment, disbelief suspended so fully that she believes it really is Edelgard down there in front of her. She lets herself wonder, for an instant, what could have been.  
  
When the moment ends, she feels that familiar poison spread further than ever before, up her chest and into her throat, threatening to spill out of her mouth. She feels bile in her throat, the searing pain of acid eating at her flesh. She grips her seat and chokes it down.

—

By the time Byleth doesn't flinch each time she sees the sculpture, something else is becoming obvious: she's not aging.

She's well into her sixties now, but doesn't look a day older than 25. In fact, she hazards a guess that she looks the same as she did that last year, the last day, even, of Edelgard's fateful campaign.

Somehow, she still hasn't been able to stop herself from freezing up each time she thinks about it.

Byleth shakes her head to clear her thoughts. Of late—and by 'of late', Byleth means the last several decades—she's been trying to associate Edelgard with the good memories they shared, and of the best ideals she represented. It's been working, to a degree.

The war-fed anger that many felt towards the late Emperor was at a fever pitch right after the bloody conflict ended, but over time it has lessened, and that has helped keep the darker thoughts away.

If she's being honest with herself, Edelgard never stopped being associated with good things in her mind. In the darkest parts of that hell of a war, Byleth had continued out of a sense of duty, of righteousness, perhaps a sense that she had no other choice, but even then, she never hated Edelgard. Not like Dimitri had, or so many others influenced by the propaganda she had helped spread.

Her steps falter, and she can feel her breathing becoming more labored.

She never hated Edelgard. And yet she had killed her.

Byleth's chest tightens, and her breathing comes faster and faster, yet she can’t get enough air. Her hands curl into tight fists, nails digging into her palms so much that they draw blood. Her vision is narrowing, black encroaching until all she can see is Edelgard on the ground in front of her, that massive gash in her side. She sees blood. Blood pouring out of Edelgard, blood on the ground, blood _on her hands._ She retches.

Sometimes, she wishes she could imagine Edelgard had been angry. Wishes she could convince herself that she had only done what she had to do. Wishes Edelgard's final words could have confirmed that she hated Byleth for leaving her. That she could convince herself that what she did was right.

But Edelgard's last words hadn't been angry, or hate-filled, they'd been full of—of...

A single sob wracks Byleth's body before her throat tightens up again. It tightens so much that more can't force their way out, much as they try. She sits here, hands clenching as they grip nothing but air, body shaking in silent pain.

Lately, she's been trying to convince herself that Edelgard's last words could have been full of anything but love.

And, even scarier, that what she had felt for the Flame Emperor had ever been anything _but_ that unfamiliar emotion.

Emotion itself is foreign to Byleth, and love is an emotion so foreign that she hadn't been able to even begin to put a name to it back then.

She falls to her knees, and when a student finds her there on the ground in the middle of a walkway in the gardens, she remains unresponsive until a now-retired Dorothea is called to guide her up and to her room.

—

By the time Byleth stops trying to convince herself that Edelgard's last words could have been full of anything but love, she's several hundred years old. She loved Edelgard. She knows this now, and accepts it.

She loved her and she killed her.

Even thinking such thoughts still makes her shrink inside herself, her heart shriveling up.

How could she do something so terrible to someone she loved so dearly? She's a monster.

So, Byleth decides she will never forgive herself. She will dedicate her life, however long it may be, to seeing through Edelgard's dream. Once, she helped stop the ushering in of a new era, sans crests, or nobility, or birthright, to Fodlan. Now, she will be the usher that pulls Edelgard's dream along by the hand and makes it reality.

She may be a sinner, a gross monster, the unfeeling Ashen Demon. But even her unholy hands may accomplish something good if she lets them be guided by the will of someone better.

She's seen several generations be brought into life and pass away, now. The two constants in her life are that ache in her gut, spreading now to numb her body, and the statue of Edelgard. Byleth visits her at least once each moon. Edelgard’s had several homes now. The monastery, at first, where she remained until Byleth’s life should have ended originally. Then from museum collection to museum collection Edelgard had traveled, Byleth always only a step behind her.

She thinks that the real Edelgard probably rolls in her grave at the thought of Byleth touching her sculpture so often, but she can't bring herself to stay away from that one friendly face, nor the way it makes her _feel_ something in a way that she so rarely does anymore.

It's been a long time since the last Black Eagle died. A long time since Byleth had anyone she could call a true friend to the same degree she had called Dorothea, Ferdinand, Caspar, Lindhardt, Bernadetta, or even Ingrid and Mercedes friends.

She thinks she probably won't have any more like them.

She thinks she probably doesn't deserve to.

—

Byleth hardly recognizes the world anymore. Or perhaps she hardly remembers what it once was. Hunks of metal propelled under their own power have long since replaced horses for travel, and images moving across great screens look almost like real life.

And yet, as she strides two-at-a-time up the stone steps leading to Enbarr’s _Hevring Museum of Adrestian History_ , she sees in her mind’s eye the reason she’s here, and thinks that some things really haven’t changed much at all.  
  
Byleth gives a curt nod to the employee standing in front of the doors, letting him scan her membership card. The man smiles softly at her and waves her in, used to Byleth’s frequent visits.  
  
She finds herself on autopilot, walking the familiar path through the maze of a museum until she finally finds herself where her feet knew she wanted to go.  
  
Her breath still catches when she sees Edelgard here. The installation is truly impressive, and she’s gotten quite good at timing her arrival so that the sun’s rays strike _just so_ across the statue’s face. She looks almost ethereal like this, but as Byleth reaches a hand out and strokes her fingers softly across one cheek, she proves once more that it’s very much solid.  
  
Of late, she’s been feeling compelled more and more to visit here. That all too familiar knot in her stomach is still present, but it’s been… loosening, lately. It feels like it’s been almost _wanting_ to unravel. And Byleth almost wants it to, as well.  
  
But such a thing is scary. That pain has been her only constant in life, besides Edelgard’s statue. It has propelled her forward towards her goals. Given her the strength to push, in any way she can, for the change Edelgard had stood for. And she had succeeded. For the most part, anyway.  
  
Things weren’t perfect. They probably never would be. But, Byleth thinks, eyes closing as she lays her forehead over her hand, pressed against Edelgard's cheek, they’re _pretty damn good._

And in thinking so, she feels that knot truly begin to work itself apart.  
  
The first thing to go had been systemic injustices against those with Crests. Byleth had seen first hand how so many of her students had been affected by that bias. She had campaigned tirelessly during her first life, using Linhardt’s research as an invaluable bargaining chip, until crests were no longer something determined at birth, but rather something that one could choose freely.  
  
The problem was, that choice only existed for those with money or power, something that very few had. For a little while, the subjugation of the masses by the nobility became even worse. The wealth gap grew, excesses in free time and money resulting in something equally beautiful and terrible: the beginning of an industrial era.  
  
The first industrial technology came at this time of wealth inequality, and it only furthered the issue. Those who couldn’t afford anything else were conscripted into wage slavery, forced to take crests which improved their ability to perform in factories or mines.  
  
Byleth had seen all this happen and knew something had to change. Eventually, she had found the right vehicle for that change. She smiles softly, remembering the woman she had supported to bring about that change. Annalise’s story was similar to Edelgard’s in some ways, being forced to take a crest she did not desire, but very different in others. She’d not come from nobility, but from a tiny mining town. They had the same incredible will, though. The same drive to do the impossible. And with Byleth at her side, they had succeeded.  
  
A tear leaks out of Byleth’s eye and onto her hand. She cracks her eyes open for a moment, rubbing her face against the back of her hand to clear away the wetness. 

_You would have liked her_ , she thinks as she looks toward Edelgard, smiling softly. A few moments later, that smile cracks slightly.

She feels a string of pain unravel from her gut, tangle around her heart, and _squeeze_.

 _I’m sorry I wasn’t there to support you like I was for her._ _  
__  
_Nothing would make her stop regretting that fact, she didn’t think. Nothing would stop her from wishing she could have held the _real_ Edelgard’s cheek like she now held her statue’s. From wishing she could feel the heat of the other woman’s living flesh beneath her fingers. From wishing she could feel the burn of that indomitable soul staring back into her own through eyes that were thoroughly _alive_ . But, she thinks, feeling that poisonous thread slowly unwrap from her heart, there is nothing she can do to make that a reality.  
  
She had made a terrible mistake. She had killed the woman she loved.  
  
And she had spent the rest of her unnaturally long life attempting to atone for it. Attempting to live her life guided by the very woman she had ended.

Byleth hopes Edelgard might be... proud of her, if she could see what she had accomplished.  
  
Finally, she lets the tension that she had kept firmly smothering that ache for so many years vanish; lets that tangle of pain do as it will as it comes apart. She lets herself _feel_ .  
  
Fear comes first, growing slowly outward from her core until it has invaded her entire body. It grips her, squeezing her insides and making her whole body go rigid.

She fears that she’s a failure. She fears that all she’s done has been for naught.  
  
She fears that Edelgard hated her.  
  
She fears that she still does.  
  
Byleth shakes, eyes scrunched closed, for several long minutes. Eventually, she fights to open her eyes and lift her head. She sees those stone eyes staring back at her. They ground her, slightly, a tether thrown out that she grips and hangs onto with all her strength.  
  
She feels the memory of Edelgard’s last moments come over her. It was a common source of nightmares and episodes, but she can’t remember the last time she’d thought of it willingly. She doesn’t know the last time she experienced it as it _truly_ had been.

She remembers now.

She sees Edelgard’s face, calm, serene even as she’d looked up at Byleth. Edelgard hadn’t been angry. She hadn’t hated Byleth.

She had _loved her._

Sorrow crashes over her like a wave. It’s an emotion that she is relatively familiar with, but one which she has always tried to dam up, to push away, to dodge. Now, she lets it do as it will.

She feels herself being buffeted, tumbled, dragged under the surface and thrown around under the awesome _power_ of her sorrow. Sobs leave her as she leans heavily on the statue in front of her.

But, just as an ocean wave eventually passes by and leaves you once again under your own power, ready to struggle to the surface for breath, the sorrow eventually subsides. It leaves Byleth bone tired, gasping for air though she was never truly without.  
  
When she opens her eyes again, the sun has set. A warm glow still hangs on the horizon, rapidly changing from orange to pink to cool purples and blues. What comes next, she’s not expecting. She feels… relief. She’s not sure why, at first. And then she senses it. Or rather, she _doesn’t_ sense it. There’s no ache sitting deep in her gut anymore. That ball of pain is… gone. 

It’s a foreign feeling. She feels lighter, yet also more grounded. Like she’s really _present_ in the moment in a way she hasn’t been in a long time.  
  
Over the course of several minutes, Byleth feels that relief grow and build into something more. Into acceptance. Acceptance of the things she’s done. Acceptance that her actions are permanent, and that they’ve helped to shape the world. That she’s done bad things, yes, but that she’s also done a lot of good.  
  
That acceptance flourishes, a warm glow that again starts in her gut and spreads through her chest and into her limbs. A familiar feeling, but… inverted. Instead of pain enveloping her body, it’s a sense of calm, a sense of assuredness.  
  
Byleth takes slow steps in a circle around Edelgard’s statue. Yes, her statue. Not Edelgard herself. She knows this. And yet, the soft glow of twilight seems to make it shimmer and glint in a mimicry of life. Byleth smiles as she returns to her original place, once again reaching out a hand to rub slowly across the statue’s cheek.  
  
She feels that calm which had settled into her body set fire in her gut, burning uncontrollably outwards. It feels so incredibly intense, yet unlike the pain she’d felt before. She feels _invigorated._ She feels…

Love.  
  
Tears come, again, but not of sorrow. There’s pain there, yes, but there’s also healing, and joy, and serenity.  
  
—

A week later, Byleth looks herself in the mirror. She can hardly believe her eyes, but it’s impossible to deny now. She’s aging again, and more rapidly than a normal person.  
  
She reaches a hand up to her hair, grabbing a lock of white hair and twisting it between her fingers. She lets it fall, her fingers coming to rest over her face, which hasn’t yet begun to wrinkle, but it’s showing age.  
  
She takes another trip to see Edelgard a couple of days later, and by then her face _is_ wrinkling.  
  
The feel of her new, rougher, more delicate skin against the statue’s worn-smooth surface is foreign, but not unpleasant. She smiles to herself, looking at the familiar, intense, _beautiful_ visage in front of her. The face of the woman she’d loved. That she still loves.  
  
“Well, El,” she starts, softly. “Perhaps you’ll soon get your wish.”  
  
She looks down and scuffs her toe on the ground, then looks back up with that small smile of hers, more present in her eyes than her lips.  
  
“Perhaps, in the next life, we’ll get to walk together.”

—

 **_Byleth Eisner_ ** **_  
_** **_1159 - 2724_ **

  
  
  
  



End file.
